


Getting you

by LadyBraken



Series: Terrorfest- Halloween 2019 [6]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: Somewhere on the ship, there was a scream.Before anyone had the time to move, Francis had jumped on his feet. He had lived through many things, in his years both in England and on the sea - but never had he heard such a scream.





	Getting you

Somewhere on the ship, there was a scream. 

Before anyone had the time to move, Francis had jumped on his feet. He had lived through many things, in his years both in England and on the sea - but never had he heard such a scream. 

He knew, he  _ knew _ he shouldn’t have left whatever  _ pentacle  _ it was alone, even under the watch of the lieutenants.  _ Especially under the watch of the lieutenants _ . 

He ran to the source of the scream- in the enclosed space of the ship, he only had to follow the panicked gazes of the men and the rushing steps of the marines. Like returning to the original point. 

He really shouldn’t have left the thing alone. 

It wasn’t long until they stumbled on the scene. 

The whole walls - and ceiling - were covered in the inscriptions. 

In the middle of it, was blood. It took three blinks for Francis to process what he was seeing. In the middle of the circle was a mass. The only thing identified what this mass has been: a blossoming shape of eyeless flesh still staring at the heavens. 

A head. 

“Oh fucking hell,” muttered one of the marines behind them, “holy fucking shit-”

Little ran to a corner to puke away from them. 

The marine - Tozer - was looking eyes wide at the mess. 

“Sergeant, mind your language,” hissed Hodgson, who wasn’t letting the horrible spectacle from his sight either. His bird-like face was constructed in something that looked more like terrible resignation than horror. 

“My language? Are you insane?” cried Tozer, his hands clutched on his gun, “can’t you see this… Thing?”

“Sergeant, you will calm down right now!”

There was a silence. Somewhat relieved he didn’t have to take care of that particular piece of command, Crozier turned towards Macdonald. Franklin was already addressing the doctor. 

“Doctor, I need to know who this is and how he died, if you please.”

He turned towards the marines- who were all getting frantic despite the reassurances of Hodgson and Fitzjames. 

“Lieutenants, I want every man outside in twenty minutes. We need to count our men and be at the ready. No one walk alone, all the men that can be armed will be.”

“Yes, sir,” came the unanimous reply.

At Francis's side, Jopson came closer. Francis didn't know if the boy was  _ that _ scared or if he felt the need to protect his captain, but he didn't like any of this. 

He looked at the head - it seemed familiar, somehow. The lines of the mouth, the shape of the brows-

“Where is doctor Stanley?” asked Macdonald. 

\---

The scream sent a chill down Stanley’s spine. 

Stephen Stanley was many things. Cold, irritable, sometimes. But stupid, he was not. The moment he saw the corpse - if the pile of meat on the floor could still be called a corpse - his steps turned. 

He didn’t run. It would attract attention, to run. 

In the sick bay, Goodsir was struggling to free his hands from Collins’ grip. How the big man had managed to untie himself was anyone's guess - but if someone had asked Stanley, he would have pointed the finger at his colleague. Goodsir was always too kind.  _ Too kind for this world _ . 

_ At least his head is still on his shoulders.  _

Stanley had often thought that, left alone, Goodsir would be eaten alive. He wished now that the idea never had crossed his mind. Of all the men on this ship, he was probably the only one to really know what men were capable of. Such things came with war- especially to the surgeons. 

Stanley jumped to seize the lieutenant’s large wrists and pry the strong hand away from the poor anatomist. 

Once he had let go, Collins fell back on his bed, immediately asleep.

Goodsir barely took a moment to assess the bruises on his own body before he ran back to his patient's bedside, checking for a pulse, checking the breathing. Stanley had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

He bodily pushed the anatomist back - it wouldn’t do for Goodsir to get trapped again. “We have to go to the lieutenants. Someone died - not sure who.”

Goodsir’s eyes widened. “I can’t leave Collins alone!” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing. 

“You can, and you will. We’ll lock the door.”

“We can’t-”

“This isn’t our sickbay, this isn’t our ship. Macdonald will take care of it, as is his duty.” 

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about… sickbay territory.”

Stanley clenched his jaw and leaned away from Goodsir. Macdonald was standing at the door of the sickbay, his ever-present smile slightly tense. “I was wondering where you were,” he said. “It’s not safe to walk alone anymore. The Captain ordered for all the men to assemble on the bridge.”

Stanley didn’t answer. His eyes fell on what Macdonald was carrying. He had surrounded it with stained linens, but nothing could hide what it really was. 

_ The head _ . 

Stanley didn’t like this. Stanley didn’t like this at all. 

Behind them, Collins whimpered. 

Macdonald’s eyes fell on Collins, then on Goodsir. He said nothing and nodded at them to follow him. Once they were out of Collins’ sight, Macdonald put the head on a worktable with a frown. He unwrapped the linens from around the decapitated limb, as softly as if the victim was still alive. They warmed some water up to wash up the blood and gore. Little by little, the features appeared. 

“I didn’t know any man on the ship had hair this long and this… blond,” noted Stanley with a frown. 

Goodsir snapped his head up. “But… the hair is short and - brown. Black?”

They stared at each other in silence. It didn’t make sense. Goodsir was a fanciful young man - but Stanley knew, as much as he would have wished to refute it, that he would never lie in this situation. 

Finally, Stanley decided that the mystery was probably due to exhaustion. There were three of them - surely at least two would… see the same thing. 

“Macdonald, what do you see?” Stanley asked.

Macdonald shook his head. His eyes, for the first time since Stanley had met him, were widened in incomprehension. “White… white and shoulder length. Like my mother used to wear.” 

\----

No matter how much he tried to keep a straight, kind expression on his face, Sir John looked like we was being swallowed from inside. Behind his back, his hands were clutching tight at each other, and his back was far too straight for comfort. 

Uneasiness mixed with satisfaction in Francis’s heart - and he despised both. 

Things had to very very fucking wrong for Franklin to be scared. The man was ready to make them all freeze here - and there he was, almost bolting from his spot, in front of the men, no less. Yet, no matter how unadvisable his decisions, Franklin was their leader. Their strong, charismatic, ever optimistic leader. He stood strong, and that was no little thing. 

Francis would have liked to tell Franklin that. If only because of the long-lived friendship they had had - yet he didn’t know how. The warmth of alcohol made him somewhat sluggish, and the thing he wanted the more right now was to drink another glass.

The humiliation still stank, too. 

The men gathered outside, all bundled up in their coats and scarves, like a hundred big clumsy penguins. They were whispering to one another - some of them looking around in fright. There was no stopping the rumors, but Francis hoped the extent of the facts had been kept quite hidden. The lieutenants were checking on the names, listing with efficiency the ones that were here - hoping not to find one that was missing. Francis saw them exchange soothing words with the most frightened men - he proudly noticed that their methods seemed to work quite well considering the circumstances. 

Finally, Lieutenant Irving came back to him. 

“Mr Hickey is missing,” he said firmly. The man had gathered himself quicker than anyone would have thought. Francis didn’t know if his faith was the source of the fright this whole thing had given him, or the source of his bravery. Perhaps both. Yes, yet, the man was still standing, proud and calm in front of the men. Doing his duty. 

Francis frowned, trying to remember the name. A glass of whisky, a sly smile. A fake accent. “The caulker mate?”

Irving nodded gravely. “Yes.”

“So he can be either the victim or the killer.”

Irving mumbled something inaudible, but Francis dismissed him. He knew far too well what was between these two - the words unsaid. There was not a thing on his ship that missed his eye. 

Well. He couldn’t quite say that anymore. 

Jopson appeared from inside the ship, his cheeks reddened by cold and fatigue. Immediately, a pang almost made Francis fall on the ground. 

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” he said, checking with a look that the young man was alright. 

Jopson’s eyes widened, before softening. “It’s all right, sir. I was careful - and I had your gun on my way back.”

Francis harrumfed. “Yes. Well. This may not be enough against - whatever did this.”

“Whatever? Not whomever?”

Francis nodded, before crossing his hands behind his back. He turned towards Franklin to pretend to listen to another heartfelt speech. 

But Franklin didn’t start immediately. He turned towards Francis, lips somewhat pinched. “Where are the doctors?” he asked in a hushed voice. 

“They went to take care of the…”

Franklin noded. “It’ll be better if they’re here.”

Francis felt a familiar frustration rise up in him. “No one can go down there - it is not safe-”

“This is a full gathering, and as such we need al the men,” cut Franklin with a patronizing nod. 

“I can go, sir.”

Francis turned towards Thomas in horror. “Certainly not.”

“Thank you, Mr Jopson. You will then go get the doctors - and that is an order, Francis.”

Before Francis could protest, Thomas put a hand on his forearm, his gaze serious. “I’ll come back quick, sir,” he said, and Francis looked at him in as to say that he’d better, or else. Francis held back the gun, silently. Thomas smiled slightly, and with that, he went. 

\---

Jopson walked down the stairs carefully. Once the wooden door was closed, the entire ship was plunged into silence. No light filtered through but the ones of the dying lamps. The ship didn’t even creak. 

Jopson tightened his coat around him and walked as silently as he could towards the sickbay. He didn’t like the situation. He didn’t like that the Captain was being unsettled by it all. He didn’t like that his friends were in distress- but above all, he hated that one of the men under their command had hurt another. 

_ Whatever. Not whomever. _

Jopson wasn’t superstitious. But, and it was perhaps the most important objection here, he knew Captain Crozier. He knew him since long and hard earned years - he had known him drunk, clear-minded, angry, peaceful. He had known him foreseeing icebergs and jumping across the ice like Jesus walked on water. He had learned to trust the man sometimes - to trust his instinct always. 

He wasn’t sure if it could be called instinct. He wasn’t going to tell either. 

_ Stomp _ . 

Thomas jumped backward, ready to shoot. 

There was a bloody handprint marking the wooden wall. 

Jopson stepped forwards to inspect it before his senses came back to him. 

_ Stomp _ . 

Another handprint, turned towards him. Red leaking down in droplets, marking the wood.  _ Stomp _ . Another, closer. Jopson took a step back.  _ Stomp, stomp _ . Tracing a pattern, louder than before, like an invisible headstand on the wall.  _ Stomp stomp stomp STOMP _ . Thomas walked backwards, gun at the ready. 

_ Stomp _ . On the opposite wall - hands of a different shape.  _ Stomp Stomp.  _ Towards him. His breath was coming short, his heart beating like mad. His legs were so tense they hurt. He didn’t even process it enough to wonder  _ what the fuck was going on _ . 

He ran. 

_ STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP. _

The noise was following him - the hands, the hands were running towards him. Thomas ran, and ran, and ran. 

_ STAP _ . 

He felt a sharp pain on his arm and valsed on the right. He fell against the wall, his side bloodied - a sharp pain on his arm. Broken, at least. 

Thomas fought to stay awake, to stay conscious, to get up. He had promised the captain he would come back. 

\---

Suddenly, the head’s mouth opened, and started to scream.

\---

A scream came from inside the ship, and Francis would have run in if the effort of both Blanky and Fitzjames hadn’t stopped him. He shouted, swore, screamed too, ready to fight, fists first. 

Then, suddenly, the scream stopped. 

\---

The mouth stayed open, the eyes wide. But the scream stopped. 

There was only a second of silence before they heard a crash on the other side of the sick-bay. Collins had thrased so much he had made the entire bed fall on the side, and was curling on himself, muttering like a mad-man. 

If it was up to Stanley, the man would already had been shot. And the thrice-damned head. 

“It wasn’t me! It was him! He told me to do it! He said the voices would go - he gave me the bucket with the paint! he said, he said-” whined the man. 

Goodsir stepped forwards - again. Stanley had the hardest time not to knock the man out for his own good. He knelt near the man and put a comforting hand on his arm. 

“Yes, you said that before, Mr Collins” drawled Stanley. Goodsir glared at him, but the man ignored it. He was probably the only one with his sense in the room. 

“Who did tell you to do that, Collins? Who did?” he asked in earnest. 

The answer was only a whisper.

“The captain.”

_ Stomp, stomp, stomp.  _


End file.
